Metro North Pass
by BlinkMaster
Summary: One shot. Written for the prompt: Metro North Pass. Six years of Quinn not using her Metro North Pass.


It's not that Quinn didn't want to see Rachel. She did. And it wasn't like she was actively avoiding her - at first - it was just the forced exile college brought to her usually Rachel filled life was, in a way, equally liberating as it was torturous. She liked the way she now only thought about Rachel half of her time and the way only when she was really drinking did everything in New Haven remind her of the brunette. She did miss her though. More than she knew she should. But, maybe just not enough.

Getting out of Christmas her first year of school was easy. Her mom had a new boyfriend and Quinn wasn't sure if he knew she had kids – or if her mom actually knew his last name. They were going on a cruise and Quinn was more than happy to be getting out of that – the open seas in contained spaces with her mother wasn't the ideal holiday, not to mention she got seasick on a ferry out to Stanton Island that one time last summer when she did actually go out to visit Rachel. The brunette managed to only make fun of her a little bit on their journey back as Quinn's face turned an awful shade of pale green.

What wasn't easy was when she opened her door on the 31st of December, thinking it was Greg, who had magically changed his mind about taking her to his parents party (it's too soon and I haven't told them about Jane yet, let alone you), to a grinning Santana with a bottle of God knows what in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

"I thought we hated each other," Quinn said simply as she moved out of the way letting Santana into her small apartment.

Santana shrugged as she threw her bag against the floor of Quinn's room. "Britt was busy."

"With Sam," Quinn guessed easy enough as she followed Santana to her couch.

"I thought she'd drop him after I travelled for fucking ever on a bus. A bus filled with nuns, Quinn. What the hell are nuns doing on a bus?"

"Travelling?"

Santana rolled her eyes as she stood and made her way to the tiny makeshift kitchen finding the glasses quickly. "Their beady eyes were judging me the whole trip."

"So, you're here because your ex-girlfriend isn't dropping all her plans with her boyfriend because you decide to show up in town?" She took the glass Santana offered her without complaint.

"Why am I always repeating myself with you? I thought Yale was supposed to make you smarter?"

"You dumped her, you know."

"And, I still hate you, but here we are getting our drink on and stuff," Santana pointed out and Quinn couldn't argue with that.

Santana stayed for a week. They didn't say much to each other and Quinn never asked why Santana didn't crash at her mom's or where she went at night and Santana never asked where Greg was – which was good because Quinn didn't know.

Rachel called her every Sunday - after she called her fathers - usually around ten. It lasted for hours and left Quinn exhausted for her early Monday lecture. She didn't mind at all. Rachel would tell her about New York and about school and about what she and Kurt were doing that week. And she appreciated the way Rachel only sometimes mentioned Brody like she almost knew the way Quinn would silently hope his name wouldn't be mentioned.

The only problem for Quinn was (other than the fact it was only once a week) Rachel kept asking her to come visit. She pointed out more and more frequently Quinn had spent all that money on a pass and they hadn't used it once. Each time Rachel brought it up Quinn found something she just had to do absolutely immediately.

She wanted to see Rachel - she did. Quinn just didn't know how to face Rachel when she went to bed with Greg almost every night. It's not that she felt that she was doing anything wrong. Of course she wasn't - they were two consenting adults and Rachel would see it that way. Or, that's, at least, the way the Rachel in her head saw it. It's just every time she talked to Rachel and then went out with Greg the next night she felt so guilty - in a way she didn't want to understand. And she could only imagine it would be so much stronger if Rachel was actually there watching her.

Once, in the middle of February Quinn accidentally told Rachel she had to clean the oven at 2am. Rachel stopped asking after that. In Quinn's defence, the oven really was dirty.

"I'm visiting Berry," Santana said into the phone when Quinn finally answered it after three ignored calls during her lecture and one during dinner.

She felt her heart beat one too many times and took a deep breath to calm what was beginning to feel a little bit like panic for no apparent reason. "What does that have to do with me?" She finally managed to get out.

"You're coming with me."

She felt the familiar dryness in her throat. "I'm really swamped."

"You're on spring break."

Quinn sighed as she unlocked her door. "Did you Google that?"

"Fabray I don't know what caused your new Berry allergy but get over it. I'm tired of listening to her whine about you not wanting to see her ass."

She wanted to ask what Rachel said and how she said it and how often – but this was Santana on the phone – "When did you and Rachel get to be besties anyways?"

"Don't get all jealous on me Fabray."

"I'm not jealous. I just think it's weird."

"Whatever, I don't care what you think. I just need a time to pick you up."

"I'm not going."

"Like hell you're not."

"Look, Greg and I have plans." They didn't. She hadn't heard from him in a week. He had to grade papers and she had to be angry about him ignoring her.

"Every day?"

"Every day."

"Whatever Fabray. Have fun playing his second fiddle, I'm tired of this bullshit." Quinn opened her mouth to retort but the line went dead immediately.

Three days later Quinn got a call at midnight. She knew she'd get one - she thought it would be sooner - but she couldn't decide if she was happy or horrified that the number wasn't Santana's

"Quinn," Rachel slurred through the phone.

Quinn instantly felt awake even though she had fallen asleep three hours ago to her third repeat of SVU. "What's wrong?"

"Why aren't you here?"

"I had plans."

"Santana said you'd say that and that you're a liar."

"Well, Santana's a bitch."

"Yeah but at least she's here," Quinn wished she didn't hear Rachel say as they fell into easy conversation about Rachel's classes and the barista that Rachel was sure was using real milk in her coffee in the morning and about how Quinn didn't like her roommate's boyfriend but she was learning to adjust.

Shelby called on Beth's birthday. Quinn had her suspicions on how she got her number especially after she asked her for Puck's before they hung up - but she didn't ask. Beth could string sentences together now and called her "Win" and told her about her new puppy. The call completely erased her stress over her finals and not even Shelby's 'we'll call Win for your next birthday' could ruin that (because really - didn't she deserve a little more than once a year?)

She texted Rachel later that night with a thank you. Rachel responded an hour later with 'you're welcome'.

Summer came quick. Her mother wasn't surprised when she told her she was going to stay in New Haven. Greg taught summer classes and Quinn decided that she'd get more summer reading done away from the distractions of Lima. She wanted to take summer classes but the price was too high and her dad refused to pay for what he thought was an extra expense. Greg turned up more and more at her apartment and decided to stay later and later. She saw the disappointment in her roommate's eyes and knew she gave Quinn more and more excuses why they couldn't hang out, but Quinn didn't care. It was Kate's issue not hers.

In August, right before the semester began, Quinn got a letter. Actually it was more of an envelope. Someone had slipped it into her mailbox without anything but her name scrawled out in elaborate silver letters - the "i" dotted with a gold star. Greg told her not to open it when she brought it into her apartment and dropped it on the counter that he slowly drank his morning tea at. The world was filled with sick people who did sick things. Quinn was unsure on how many sick people use gold stars and how many sick things are delivered in a tiny white envelope to a nothing college student - but she didn't argue.

She obviously knew who it was from before she opened it that night - after she faked a headache that got Greg to leave to go back to the house that he still shared with his soon to be ex-wife for reasons Quinn couldn't quite understand. The envelope opened easily and out dropped a new metro pass - identical to the one she gave the girl over a year before. She shook the envelope again but the expected never came. Not a card, note, small tape recording with some mash up of songs that would have been better off fading into obscurity. Nothing. She didn't get it - subtle and understated just weren't Rachel's style.

Then again, maybe she was completely misreading the situation (and really everything) all together.

It took Quinn three weeks to email Rachel after she got the envelope - whose contents were neatly placed back inside and now laid nestled between her glasses and her copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ inside her bedside table.

_Thank you. I appreciate the gift. _

_Were you in New Haven?_

She leaves the 'and didn't want to see me' unsaid before she sends the email without a proper salutation – something she knows will eat at the other girl but Quinn doesn't really care.

Three hours later, she sat in the library staring blankly into space but she was at the library and that should count for something when her phone rang. She didn't look. She knew. It only took three minutes for the first tiny ding that indicated a text message to go off and then another immediately after. She quickly turned off the sound but couldn't stop herself from clicking open

**Rachel:** I'm glad you got it.

**Rachel:** I wasn't sure that you wanted to see me. I was just driving through

Quinn sighed and laid her phone down on the table. She was never going to be able to concentrate now. She packed up her belongings and walked out of the library in the direction of her apartment, dialing Rachel's number as she went.

By October, the fact that he was still living with her began to eat at Quinn. She knew that they were separated – the messages his wife left on her phone was proof of that – but he never talked about it. She didn't know why she called Rachel after Santana still wouldn't pick up for her - or why her Yale friends were good enough to go on long weekends with and to share intimate personal writings with or to trust with her cat Woolfe when she disappeared unexplained with Greg. But she didn't feel like she could call them at 2am on a Tuesday night.

She knew she could call Rachel. Or, she wanted to believe she could and that was just as good.

"Hey," she said when she heard Rachel murmuring on the other end of the line.

"Hey yourself," Rachel finally managed after a few seconds of ruffled sheets and one yawn.

"Who is it?" Quinn heard a distinctly male voice and then the quiet reassurance that came after.

She felt her throat go numb, but forced herself not to hang up. "I didn't know you wouldn't be alone," Quinn managed to stammer.

Rachel laughed and Quinn cringed. "Oh, it's just Brody. We had a late night at the studio," she said like it should explain away everything

Of course Quinn knew about Brody. Everyone knew about Brody. Quinn's positive the postman in Lima knew about Brody. That didn't make the reality of Rachel laying in bed at 2am with Brody hurt any less though.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

Rachel laughed. "You're not."

"I should go."

"Quinn, what's wrong?" She heard Rachel ask but she had already hung up the phone. She ignored Rachel's texts for the next few days but finally gave in when Rachel called her on Sunday and had to apologize profusely, blaming it all on her phone. Rachel didn't believe her but she pretended and that was good enough for Quinn.

On December 18th of that year, Quinn spent the morning starring down at her phone. She read through all the birthday wishes from more and more people she didn't recognize and couldn't place. Rachel had responded with each with a paragraph when all she needed to do was post a general thanks – but it made Quinn smile anyways. She had sent the brunette a birthday/Christmas present through the post weeks ago but she hadn't heard anything about it since and Rachel had been cutting their Sunday conversations shorter and shorter

She sighed when the line to Rachel's cell phone was busy and decided to just send her a happy birthday text instead.

She spent the holidays in Washington with her sister and her family. She invited Greg but he refused (Christmas is for family.) She didn't know when she'd fit that description for him and didn't care after the fight they had the night before she left. But they never said I love you or held hands in public. Greg said things like that weren't important and it was actions that count. Quinn never understood because she thought those things were actions.

She changed her major before the second semester began. She couldn't remember why she had thought it would be a good idea. Or she did - but she no longer wanted to daydream about walking down the red carpet with Rachel at her side the world excited about the new Hollywood power couple - she didn't want to daydream about Rachel at all really, but that didn't mean she could stop it.

Rachel obviously wasn't the only reason why she decided on drama (or not so obviously). She knew she loved to be seen and she loved to be - well, loved and she loved doing what she was good at. She was a performer at heart - she always played a role - and she was good at that. But, Greg thought she could do more than that, that she'd waste her intelligence and her opportunity at Yale on a half baked pipe dream. So she changed her major to psychology.

On a cooler than usual night in August, Greg got a call at 3am. He untangled the sheets roughly from under her as he sat up in bed, talking more and more angrily into the phone. This wasn't the first time she'd call well after normal hours – it wouldn't be the last – but it was the first time he began throwing on his clothes that lay strewn out around the room.

"What are you doing?" she asked timidly, eyes barely open.

He didn't answer at first, choosing to collect his shirt and to start the buttoning process instead of looking towards the naked blonde now sitting up in bed, pulling the sheet around her body – feeling just a little too exposed. He sighed as he sat down next to her, his clothed leg against her bare one, comforting Quinn just enough to keep her tears at bay. "Billie was in an accident."

She knew that Greg had kids – not because they had talked about it – but because she had seen their pictures in his office and in his wallet and once he cancelled a date because his youngest had the flu. But, that was it. They might as well have been a figment of her imagination or so

"Do you want me to come with?"

He didn't answer so she kissed the side of his head and began to get dressed.

Jane didn't look at her and she didn't say anything to anyone as she sat herself in the far corner away from the family. They wheeled the girl Quinn recognized as Greg's oldest two hours later, a cast on her leg and a bandage on her face. The girl looked at Quinn once but looked away before Quinn could really contemplate how close in age they really were.

Two weeks later, she found another envelope. This time slipped under her door. She didn't pick it up at first. She walked around it for two days - it wasn't until Hannah came over to go through their presentation and stepped on it leaving a decisive foot print and skewing the gold star, did Quinn pick up the envelope and added it with the first inside her drawer where Slaughterhouse Five had been replaced by Mill on the Floss.

It was nearly a week later before Quinn managed to get the nerve to dial Rachel's number, not from lack of trying. "Were you just driving through again?" She asked once Rachel answered the phone.

It took Rachel a second to respond - and for a second Quinn worried that Rachel didn't want to hear from her - that she'd taken too long to call - or that maybe the brunette had forgotten her voice all together. "I'll have you know, Quinn, the very scenic way back to New York is really the only way to travel," she replied easily.

Quinn chuckled and sighed in relief despite her eternal pleas not to. "So someone once told me."

"Whoever it was they were very wise."

"Yes, she'd like to think so."

Quinn could feel Rachel smiling through her phone and it made Quinn smile as well, something she hadn't done in a while.

"Why don't you come to New York for your birthday? We can spend it together," Rachel offered. "I know that I won't be able to partake in the 21 festivities but I'd be happy to be your chaperone. I promise to make sure you make it back to my bed with water and the recommended aspirin dosage."

Quinn felt her throat dry up. She took a deep breath of air and shook her head before remembering that Rachel couldn't see her panicking like a four year old who just discovered the dark. "Greg actually has something planned for us."

"That's too bad. I really wanted to see you."

"I wanted to see you to," Quinn said truthfully but she knew the other girl didn't believe her.

On her birthday, her mother stopped by unexpectedly with her sister. No sign of her father – not that she really cared. Neither of them warmed to Greg, but Quinn decided they'd just need time to get to know him. She decided to bring him back to Lima for Thanksgiving and was surprised when he actually agreed.

They went to a party at Mercedes's house the Saturday after the Thanksgiving disaster. Greg and her mother didn't see eye to eye on anything and it ended with her mother accusing her of dating a replica of her father. They ended up in the one hotel in Lima. Quinn was just happy it actually had cable and that she hadn't actually maimed her mother like she thought she was going to.

Quinn cornered Mercedes almost immediately when they walked in, sloshing her drink all over the floor in her wake. "I thought you said I'd know nobody here," she said as menacingly as possible – which really wasn't very anymore.

"I lied," the other girl responded simply before side stepping the blonde and making her way over to someone Quinn had never seen before.

"Quinn," she said quietly as she approached her boyfriend on her arm. "You know Brody." She didn't really but she forced herself to look up and smile at the boy nodding. "This must be Greg."

Quinn looked to her side where Greg was watching the two of them quietly. He introduced himself before offering to get them both something to drink and walking off.

Brody smiled at her. "It's nice to actually meet you. Rachel talks about you all the time." He smelled strongly of cologne and only slightly of alcohol and so much like her own date that she couldn't help disliking him just a little bit more.

"All lies," she joked half heartedly

"I'd say not," Rachel huffed, hands on her hips in the cute way she does.

Quinn grinned despite herself. "Okay, only half lies."

"You're 21 now," Rachel said with a smile and Quinn smiled back before she watched the two of them slip away into the crowd.

Two hours into the party and five solo cups later, Quinn sat by herself on the couch. Greg left an hour earlier (I came, I met them, I'm too old for this) and she refused to leave with him. Ten minutes of absently watching Rachel's date make her friends laugh like he actually belonged there, and she felt the couch next to her dip and the usual dryness in her throat.

"Do you not like Brody?"

"He's nice," Quinn faltered. She had no reason not to like Rachel's boyfriend - he was almost perfect - his only fault being he was, well, Rachel's boyfriend.

"Greg's nice."

"No he's not."

Rachel smiled her first genuine smile at Quinn all night and it felt like a weight lifted itself off of Quinn's chest - or maybe it was the alcohol. "He was very polite," Rachel corrected.

"Yeah."

"Why are you with him?" She asked so quietly that Quinn had to lean closer to hear.

"I don't know."

Absolutely nothing about Greg reminded her of Rachel. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and couldn't even whistle in tune. He didn't know that Cats was a musical and he didn't know the difference between Barbra Streisand and Martha Stewart. But, that couldn't be the only reason. He was also protective and intelligent and he saw something in her that she wanted to see in herself.

"He makes me like me," Quinn tried to explain. "Its like I feel special that he wants to be with me."

Quinn didn't know how to respond when Rachel reached over and threaded their fingers together. "You are special, Quinn," she said in that quiet tone again which had Quinn leaning in even closer. "So special."

"I hope you're not implying that I'm slow Rachel Berry."

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel squeals with a smile. "We were having a moment and you ruined it."

"Oh is that what we were doing?" Quinn laughed.

"Really Quinn, as someone who once wanted to be an actress your dramatic timing is all -"

Quinn didn't know what possessed her but her lips were on Rachel's cheek - in the morning she'd thank every deity she could think of that she drank ways too much and her aim was naturally awful and she was just a coward- but, at that moment, she just felt disappointed.

"I miss you, you know," Rachel finally said as she touched her cheek thoughtfully.

"I miss you too," Quinn managed to get out between laboured breaths.

Rachel pulled Quinn's body next to hers and laid her head onto Quinn's shoulder. "I want you to be happy, Quinn." She knew Rachel left out the part about knowing Quinn wasn't.

"I want you to be happy." And Quinn left out the part about wanting Rachel to be happy - with her.

She heard through Finn they broke up in July. It was a passing comment for him, something to fill in the silence as they waited for Mercedes and Sam in a familiar café in Lima. It was far from a passing comment to her. She felt like something was building inside her chest: heavy but something she could possibly be waiting for.

It came mid-August, pushed under her door like last year. She held the new pass in her hand, not bothering to put it away like the other ones. This year she was going to do it. She was going to use it and surprise Rachel and hopefully sweep her off her feet. Rachel would tell her she didn't care that Quinn kept pulling away and that she didn't care about everything that happened in their past; she loved Quinn as much as Quinn loved her and they could get married and have three kids and Rachel wouldn't even want to name them after famous Broadway stars.

But then the semester began and Quinn had never had to actually work so hard at her school work before. She lost sleep and on days forgot to eat more than one meal at a time. Christmas came and went and she barely noticed between papers and research and worrying that if graduate school was anything like her last year of her undergraduate maybe she was making a terrible mistake. She didn't even have time to fight with Greg who decided that spending Christmas with his ex-wife was okay because they're his family.

It turned out that psychology taught her a lot about people and herself that she didn't want to know, but she liked it anyways. She wasn't surprised when she got into graduate school, not with her grades being what they were (complete avoidance is amazing for ones GPA). She only applied to Yale and Stanford. She would have applied to Michigan-Ann Arbor but Michigan reminded her just too much of Ohio.

She got the letters within a week of each other and it took her less than a day to decide that she'd need to find a bigger place in New Haven. She just couldn't make herself move that far away from New York.

In May, Quinn graduated. He proposed in July. She turned him down a week later after asking for some time. She just couldn't. He took it better than Quinn wanted him to, packing up the things he had in her apartment in the space of two days, kissing her on the forehead as he walked out of her life. It was like the past four years never happened and Quinn couldn't help wishing that they hadn't.

She spent the summer being depressed. Not so depressed that she couldn't function but depressed enough that she didn't notice when August crept up on her and she realised she had spent the entire three months before her graduate degree not in Paris or London where she had wanted to but laying around her apartment reading about these places in Dickens and Joyce.

Quinn looked down at the white envelope with her name scrawled in such familiar handwriting laying on her counter. No stamp. No address. She couldn't remember telling Rachel she moved. She only remembered to tell her mom last week and she'd been living there since June.

"Emily," she called down the hall to her flatmate. "Where'd this envelope come from?"

"Oh that," her roommate as she walked into the kitchen. "Some chick dropped that off last night."

"Wait," Quinn could feel the familiar dryness in her throat that she now knew was tied exclusively to her Rachel allergy. "Who dropped it off?"

"Tiny brunette," Emily said as she grabbed the apple juice from the fridge. "Talked a lot."

"She was here?"

Emily poured the juice and shook the cartoon in Quinn's direction. Quinn shook her head, still starring down at the envelope now in her hands. "Yeah, stayed awhile last night, but she said she had to get to New York and to tell you she stopped by."

Quinn couldn't believe it had been a year since the last pass came. Rachel still called sometimes. Not every Sunday but always on a Sunday. Every time Quinn would talk about nothing just trying to keep the brunette on the phone but she never stayed for more than a few hours. Quinn didn't know what stopped her from dialling the other girl's number but something did. Some invisible force made her question it every time she picked up her phone, every time she thought of the other girl (which was still just as often as it ever was), every time she went to tell her everything.

What if Rachel just didn't want to hear from her – see her – know the truth – and Quinn might just ruin everything, which admittedly wasn't much anymore, but at least it was something.

She spent the first year of her degree in the library. Yale was competitive. She knew this when she was accepted the first time four years ago, but she didn't really feel it until she walked into her first graduate class and every eye in the room felt like it was following her, sizing her up. She felt like she was back in her freshman year of high school walking into Cheerio try outs, only this time the try outs were for, well, for the life that she decided at some point in her summer that she actually wanted for herself.

She threw herself into her school work and into the job she had to get. She still got help from her parents and she was lucky for it, she knew, but not as much anymore. She got a job at the bar down the street, waiting tables most nights. It was a good job, not too difficult and people tipped well in a town like New Haven. Her boss liked her and let her take off when the studying became too much which wasn't too often. Quinn was disciplined – that's something that's never changed even through all her existential crises – and she managed to keep herself in front of the curve with only minimal stress managing to actually get some sleep and to eat most days.

Be that as it may, she threw a small party for herself and a few of her friends when finals ended that June just happy to be done with another year.

She came home early one night in late June, she was supposed to close but she switched with a girl who really needed the extra cash. Quinn didn't really mind. She felt exhausted from the double shift she worked the day before. She felt her before she saw her – something she'd never be able to explain to herself, but something she only felt when it came to the other girl - It was only June and she didn't know how to react (not that she would have known if it had been August) so she stood in front of her door staring blankly at the other girl who stood there like she's been standing there for hours.

"Aren't we friends, Quinn?" Rachel asked in a voice that Quinn didn't recognize on the other girl.

"I thought we were best friends," Quinn said truthfully.

Rachel laughed a hollow laugh before sitting herself down on Quinn's porch. "I'd like to see your definition of best friends."

Quinn only hoped she was kidding because she was pretty sure her definition would include thinking about their lips and their voice and the way they would say good morning first thing every day for as long as Quinn could remember. For some reason, she doubted Rachel shared the same definition.

Deciding to ignore the comment, Quinn sat herself down next to the brunette, careful to leave just enough space between them. "I think you're my best friend."

"Finn wants to marry me still."

Quinn didn't know what to say. It had been so long since she thought about Finn Hudson - at least a year - and she had no idea that Finn and Rachel had been talking again - let alone that they were somewhere, anywhere, near to marriage.

"Oh."

"Quinn can you please just tell me why I shouldn't marry him, please."

She didn't know. All her reasons from before weren't valid anymore. At least, all the reasons she said out loud.

"I didn't know you were dating."

"Casually for the last couple of months." She looked hurt and Quinn instantly realized that this was definitely something she should have known - something she might have been told but choose not to hear - or maybe something Rachel just didn't bother to tell her at all.

"And?"

"And he asked me to marry him."

"Oh."

"Quinn, is this a conversation you don't want to have?"

Quinn shook her head and rubbed at her eyes. This had to be a nightmare – one of those nightmares that feel so really just because it's that terrible. "No, sorry, do you want to marry Finn?"

"I don't know."

Quinn knew the place Rachel was in. She understood. That didn't mean she wanted to. She wanted Rachel to be sure that big, dumb Finn Hudson wasn't the person for her. She had to know that. She figured that out years ago and he's still the same guy, isn't he? And she's the same girl.

"Well," she nearly choked on her next question, "do you love him?"

"I don't know."

"Don't marry him," Quinn said quietly. She knew she was being unfair and that maybe Finn did make Rachel happy. She didn't know. But, nobody ever said Quinn Fabray wasn't selfish.

That seemed to be the right thing to say because the next second, Rachel was shoving an envelope into Quinn's hands before throwing her arms around her and pulling her into a close hug.

Mercedes threw another party that Thanksgiving. She was engaged to a guy she met at school. Quinn had met him once and he was nice enough and her friend seemed happy enough. Quinn was glad to go and to get away from her mom who was just too interested in the boys she wasn't meeting at school and just not that interested in the degree her mother couldn't understand why she wanted in the first place.

What Quinn wasn't prepared for was Santana and Rachel at the party, at the party together, laughing and talking with people Quinn couldn't place if her life depended on it. They seemed so – something Quinn didn't want to place – together that Quinn felt sick as she stuck to the side of the room as Emily went off to find something to drink, just watching their interactions. Neither of them noticed her. The longer they didn't the more Quinn's face fell. She always thought that maybe Rachel felt the same pull as she did but the only pull Rachel seemed to be having was towards Santana and her stupid face and dumb jokes.

"Quinn!"

She was surprised to hear her name called at this party, her eyes on the only three people she thought she knew. Arms were around her and blonde hair hit her face and familiar smell reached her nose. "Britt," she laughed into the other girl's ear before she was finally released.

"I haven't seen you in forever."

Quinn sighed; it had to have been over two years since she saw the other girl. "I know, but you look good."

Brittany beamed at the compliment and begins to tell Quinn about her part time classes at the community college in Columbus and how she was saving up money to become a gypsy.

"Maybe you can help me understand," Quinn muttered into her drink, mostly to herself but by the way Brittany scooted closer she could tell she heard. "Santana and Rachel." She tried not to point but failed miserably - not that either girl would have noticed in that instant.

Brittany's face fell instantly

"They've been living together for like forever, Quinn," Brittany said simply as she sipped on her drink. "Where have you been?" Without another word Brittany slipped away leaving Quinn with an ever pressing headache behind her eyes and a very empty drink.

Quinn shook her head as Emily found her again, shoving a new drink into her hand.

Six drinks later and Quinn couldn't feel her feet hitting the ground as she walked. She decided she must have been floating or at the very least teleporting from room to room. She knew who she was looking for and she knew exactly why, all the other details of her life felt a little fuzzy though other than that.

"Are you sleeping with Rachel?" She asked when she finally found her.

"Excuse me?" Santana pushed off the wall she was leaning against, placing her drink down on the closest counter. "Can you repeat that again, Fabray?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah I did, I was just wondering when it became your business. Or, is there something you want to share with the class?"

Santana smirked and the few people that were around quieted down. It made her second guess everything. Quinn's hands balled into fists but she decided to turn and walk away. What was she doing? Santana was dangerous on a good day sober and she couldn't look at Santana's smirk without the overpowering want to smash it into something hard and fast right now.

"What did you want to hear Quinn?" Santana sneered as Quinn whipped back around. "That she screamed your name during? That we were just fooling around cause she lost her Quinn Fabray blow up doll?"

Yes, Quinn wanted to scream, that's exactly what she wanted to hear. Well, maybe not so much the blow up doll part – she might have to requestion her idea of Rachel at that point and she's just much too old to be doing that.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to. I don't care."

"You don't deserve her. She's too good for you."

She knew the slap was coming before Santana probably realized what she was doing but that didn't make it hurt any less. "Fuck you, Quinn."

"Quinn, are you okay?" Rachel stopped her, holding her hand up to her face where Quinn could feel the

She pushed the other girl away from her. "Why don't you just go check on your girlfriend," Quinn sneered at the brunette before pushing herself out of the party, Emily at her heels.

Rachel stopped calling after that.

She went to the opening night of Rachel's first show. She was in the chorus but she was in the playbill and Quinn managed to get ten copies away from the clueless teenaged boy manning the doors. She convinced Emily to drive with her by promising to do all the housework for a month which was completely worth it when she first spotted Rachel make her way on stage.

They left after the show was over. She didn't wait to see Rachel and definitely not to see Santana. She needed to be at class the next day and Emily didn't want to be driving so late. She did send Rachel flowers though - gardenias and lilies - with a note that read, 'you were amazing. Love, Q.' She thought she was being brave signing it like that. She doubted Rachel would agree though.

She waited. The month of August flowed into September and no envelopes came. No metro passes. No familiar handwriting or gold stars. No invitation for her to come to New York. She tried to forget it. Rachel wasn't a student anymore. She wasn't sitting around waiting for someone she used to know to come knocking on her door. No, she had a life – a good life – one that Quinn knew absolutely nothing about.

It was November, almost a year since the party, when she heard from Santana again - Quinn was surprised - she hadn't expected to hear from Santana again, or at least until they were old and Santana was in the search for a kidney or something.

"Berry's turning 25."

"And?"

"And I'm pretty sure if you don't show up you'll never have to worry about your Berry allergy again."

"What do you care?"

"I don't," Santana said before the phone went dead.

She turned up. It took three weeks to convince herself and another week to panic, but she did make it. She told Emily she didn't have to come and tried to ignore the other girl's relieved face. She didn't know anyone – at least anyone hat was willing to talk to her. Rachel greeted her at the door with a look that clearly read what-are-you-doing-here. Quinn ignored it and made her way directly to the bar.

She didn't know how to start the I've-been-in-love-with-you-for-ten-years conversation so she took another liberal drink from her glass and tried not to appear too much like a crazy stalker as she watched Rachel move around the room actively avoiding her like she'd catch something if she breathed too much of the same air. She spotted Santana a few times but the other woman seemed to be actively avoiding Quinn which really was fine by her.

"You're still here," she said in a monotone after she escorted the last of her guests out.

"I am."

"Why?" She asked as she came to a stop directly in front of Quinn. "Why are you even here?"

"Santana told me -"

But, Rachel interrupted, "I asked you why you're here, Quinn."

"I came to see you."

"It only took you how many years?"

Quinn knew she deserved that. "I'm here now."

"Now."

Unable to hold it in any longer, scared that she might not do it, she just let it out. "I'm in love with you."

"I know," Rachel responded instantly in a voice that seemed to be dripped in something Quinn really didn't want to hear.

Quinn didn't know what to do and definitely not what to say so she kissed her instead. Rachel didn't push her away which Quinn could only take as a good sign as she tried not to grab onto the other girl.

"I'm 25 today," Rachel said simply as Quinn starred in amazement when she pulled away that she didn't burst into flames or worse wake up. "I'm too old to deal with you."

Rachel walked away after that it only took an hour for Quinn to realize she wasn't coming back and another hour after that to decide that she should probably leave.

It took her four weeks to get home. She drove around mostly. She went to Canada for the first time, but it was cold and there wasn't much there. She drove down to Chicago and visited Mike who was surprised but happy to see her. She visited Puck in California and was almost tempted into staying but she knew she had to go back. So, she drove through to Lima without sleeping and slept on her mom's couch for a few days before she got the strength to drive back up to New Haven.

When she walked into the apartment and Emily yelled down a greeting and that she had some mail on the table that she should deal with immediately. She felt the dryness creeping up in her throat as she made her way into the kitchen. There it was, on the table. She rubbed at her tired eyes and stared down at the familiar writing although the gold star was missing she knew who it was from and what it was and she couldn't help the smile that kept growing on her face.

She shook the envelope like she did the first one but this time something fell out and floated down onto the table. She stared at it for a second before picking it up. The note read "this time you should use it. Love, Rachel." And, this time Quinn actually intended on doing just that.


End file.
